


Young Dr. Tmkberlake

by withdiamonds



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-27
Updated: 2005-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin starts his internship at Hope Memorial Hospital and falls for the Head Nurse in the ICU.</p><p>DWNOGA, 2005</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Dr. Tmkberlake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DWNOGA, 2005

The façade of Hope Memorial Hospital looms ahead as Justin Timberlake, MD, arrives in grand style on his Harley. He parks his beloved bike between a big silver BMW and an even bigger black Hummer in the doctors’ parking lot. He gives it a pat before heading inside for the first day of his surgical residency.

He takes a deep breath and pushes his way through the double doors of the busy lobby. Although it’s early morning, the hospital teems with activity. The night shift is leaving, day shift is arriving, and there are Volunteers everywhere. Justin pauses to take it all in. If things go well, this will be his world for the next five years.

He finds a locker in the residents’ locker room, and changes into green scrubs and a white lab coat with “J. Timberlake, MD” embroidered across the left pocket, which is the coolest thing he’s ever seen. He’s wearing his brand new Nike sneakers, and he wipes a smudge off the toe of the right one with a frown. Now he just has to find Lance Bass, the second-year resident he met at orientation, who he’ll be working with on the Trauma service this month.

Lance is in the cafeteria, drinking coffee with several other residents. Justin approaches the table with a big smile. “Hey, Lance.” He nods at the other doctors and starts to pull out a chair.

Lance shakes his head and stands up. “No time, Justin. We’ve got work to do.”

Oh. Well, he’ll meet everyone else later. He nods at the table and follows Lance out of the cafeteria.

“We’ve got x-rays to look at, come on,” Lance says, and Justin follows him to the x-ray department, where they commandeer a viewing box. Lance throws up one x-ray after another in dizzying succession. “This is a guy who fell off his roof while he was cleaning his gutters. Look, see this shadow here? Pneumonia, the guy won’t cooperate for shit, refuses to cough because “it hurts,” like, hello, of course it hurts, you broke three ribs. This is an old lady who got hit by a bus, she’s already got an infiltrate, plus some chronic lung disease. And look at this one, motorcycle accident, fractured pelvis, notice that bowel distention.”

Before Justin can put names to diagnoses, both their pagers go off. STAT call to the ER, and they take off, Justin following Lance through the labyrinth corridors that lead from Radiology to the Emergency Room. He would have thought they’d be next to each other, but apparently that was too obvious for whatever genius designed the hospital.

It’s a car accident, some kid who hit a tree with his mom’s minivan, and although there’s a lot of blood, he’s not hurt too badly. He has a big scalp laceration, which would account for all the blood, and Lance tells Justin to stitch it up. He’s done this before, as a medical student, and he waits while the nurses set up a suture tray for him. The kid doesn’t want to cooperate, and by the time Justin’s done, there’s blood all over his new white sneakers.

“Fuck! Look at my shoes!” Justin bitches all the way up to the ICU, but Lance just laughs at him as they get ready to make rounds with the attending surgeon, Dr. Holloway.

“Dr. Timberlake!” booms Dr. Holloway. He’s short and rotund, and Justin thinks his voice shouldn’t boom like that. It really should squeak instead of resonating. Justin wonders if he uses a stepstool to reach the operating table.

“Yes, sir?” Justin hopes he can answer whatever question Dr. Holloway asks him this time. He’s given a couple of wrong answers already, and he hopes Holloway hasn’t pegged him for a complete idiot.

“Mrs. Griswald’s PO2 is 87 and her PCO2 is 56. How do you explain that?” Dr. Holloway waits, unblinking, his head cocked like a fat cat watching a mouse. Maude Griswald is the 75-year old woman who’d been hit by a bus two days ago, and this morning it looks like the bus may have gotten the best of her.

The short, dark-haired man standing next to Dr. Holloway smiles encouragingly at Justin. His nametag reads “Chris Kirkpatrick, RN,” and he has warm brown eyes that for some reason give Justin some much-needed confidence.

Justin remembers Mrs. Griswald’s chest x-ray. “It means she’s probably got some underlying respiratory disease. Her chart says she’s a smoker.” There, he’s gotten one right.

Dr. Holloway actually looks disappointed for a moment. Fucker. “Very good, Dr. Timberlake.” Justin wonders which one of the oversized SUVs in the parking garage belongs to him, and he decides it’s the big, black Hummer. The guy looks like the type.

By the time rounds are over, Justin’s head is spinning with both the amount of work he has to do, and what he feels sure is a blood sugar level of about 0. He gathers the charts of the patients he’s figured out are his, and looks around for a quiet place to sit and read them. Lance says he’s heading to the cafeteria to find some food, and Justin catches a glimpse of a smirk on his face as he moves toward the elevator. Justin thinks maybe his second-year resident may be a sadistic bastard. One of those _I had to go through this, now it’s your turn_ types. And that’s fine, that’s the way it should be. That’s what it takes to be a good doctor.

He hears someone laugh as he scowls after Lance. “Hi, I’m Chris,” says a voice behind him, and Justin turns to see the short dark-haired guy from earlier hold out his hand. He smiles and adds, “Chris Kirkpatrick. Nurse Manager of this zoo.”

“Justin Timberlake. New, um, intern.” Smooth. They shake hands and Justin loses some of his irritation as he looks down into dark, laughing eyes. His stomach flutters, and he’s not sure if it’s from hunger or the warm way Chris is looking at him.

“Come on, there’s coffee back here, and I think the patient in Room 10’s wife brought us some cookies this morning. There may be some left.”

Justin hesitates, then follows Chris gratefully into the inner sanctum of the Nursing Station. He watches, fascinated, as Chris dumps an obscene amount of sugar in his coffee. That can’t be healthy. Justin’s a doctor now, and he knows these things.

Chris catches him staring and grins. “Hey, whatever gets me through the day, right? Maybe you should try it.”

Justin can’t help smiling back. “Maybe I should.”

 

*****

 

Chris leaves morning report trying to figure out the nursing assignments for the day. The old lady who got creamed by the bus needs one nurse all to herself, and the guy with the abdominal gunshot wound is going down the tubes fast. He wishes he could conjure up another nurse or two out of thin air.

It’s too early for Holloway to start rounds, and that cheers Chris up considerably. The first-year surgical intern, Justin Timberlake, is already in the unit, frowning over Mrs. Griswald’s chart. In the contest between woman and bus, Maude Griswald is clearly the loser, at least so far, and according to the off-going shift, she had a crappy night.

Justin raises his head from the chart in front of him, and Chris blinks. Damn, this kid is hot. He hadn’t really noticed that yesterday, when Justin was trying gallantly not to let Holloway get to him. All he’d seen was a combination of panic and determination in Justin’s clear blue eyes, which, now that he thinks about it, was kind of cute.

“Hey, Justin,” Chris says brightly. “Morning, dude.

Justin smiles back at him. “Hey, Chris.”

Chris nods at the chart Justin’s been reading. “Sounds like she had a bad night.”

“Yeah, she did. Her blood gases aren’t any better this morning, her electrolytes are screwed up, and she really isn’t making much urine.” Justin worries his bottom lip with his teeth, and hello, isn’t that a pretty sight? Chris stares, then shakes his head. Not a good idea to perv on the new kid.

“Where’s Bass,” Chris asks, mostly to distract himself from Justin’s lips. The hint of a pout shows itself, and is quickly gone. Chris hides a smile.

“Eating,” Justin answers bitterly. “He never seems to miss a meal,” he adds, with a combination of admiration and annoyance.

“He’s very well organized,” Chris informs him, trying not to laugh.

Justin snorts. “No kidding.” He grimaces and gets to his feet. “I need to see Mrs. Griswald before Dr. Holloway gets here.”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Dr. Timberlake. Holloway suffers from what’s known as Short-Man’s Syndrome. I can say that as someone who may be somewhat vertically-challenged myself,” Chris adds modestly.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed, “ Justin laughs. He looks Chris up and down. “On either count, man.”

Chris sees the day shift charge nurse barreling toward him and sighs. It’s time to get to work. “Go see Maude, dude. Let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to the charge nurse, who’s practically vibrating with tension at his side. “Hey, JC. What’s up?”

 

*****

 

Justin wonders where the hell Lance is. Mrs. Griswald is struggling with the ventilator, plus she’s not making much urine, and Justin needs help. He knows what to do, in theory anyway, but he wants Lance there to back him up. Mrs. Griswald’s nurse, a totally hot blonde named Britney, hovers at the bedside, throwing out suggestions every few minutes, and she looks frustrated enough to go for reinforcements.

Justin takes a deep breath to steady himself, and finally he hears a deep voice behind him rumble, “Okay, Justin, tell me what’s going on here.” Lance. Thank God.

“Where have you been?” Justin mutters as Lance looks over Maude’s morning lab work. Lance raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was scrubbing in on a case with O’Reilly. Gall bladder. He let me close.” Lance is trying to hide it, but he’s obviously excited.

Justin’s filled with envy. He can’t wait until he gets to actually operate. “Awesome, man.”

They share a grin, and Lance says, “Okay, what do we need to do to get Maude up to speed, here?”

The ICU is a study in controlled chaos, and Chris seems to be in the center of it all. While he waits for Maude’s latest blood gas report, Justin watches Chris deal with doctors making rounds, family members asking a million questions, nurses needing extra help, all the while dodging respiratory therapists, lab techs drawing blood, and x-ray techs prowling around with their portable x-ray machines.

Chris has help from the day shift charge nurse, a tall skinny guy with wildly curling brown hair named JC, who seems to be part traffic cop and part mob enforcer. Justin hears a yell from one of the rooms, and he sees JC come flying out, his face red. “Chris! Get in here!” he shouts, and turns back to the room, where the patient, an elderly man who’s obviously disoriented, is brandishing an IV pole over his head in an attempt to clobber anyone who tries to prevent his escape.

Chris enters the fray with a quiet, “Hey, Mr. Gordon, how about you put that thing down?” and together he and JC carefully disarm their patient and help him back to bed. Chris goes out to the waiting room and comes back with a middle-aged woman, most likely the man’s daughter, and leads her gently into his room, where he pulls up a chair so she can sit with her father for a while.

Justin’s pretty impressed with the way Chris runs the ICU.

By the time Mrs. Griswald’s blood gases are back, Dr. Holloway is there to make rounds. Justin is pretty proud of himself that Maude is looking a little better, and he feels good about the way rounds go. He actually has time to go eat lunch with Lance when they’re done.

 

*****

 

The cafeteria is packed, but Lance manages to find a couple of seats at a table with some of the other residents. While he chews, Justin listens as they talk about patients and gossip about the hospital staff. Lance raises his eyebrows and grins slyly as the conversation turns toward who’s sleeping with whom. Justin’s hears Chris’s name once or twice, linked with a name he doesn’t know. Somebody Richardson.

Justin’s amazed at the active sex lives they all seem to have. Lance elbows Justin and says, “Someday soon, you, too, will be the subject of lunchtime gossip. It’s inevitable, especially with your hair,” Justin reaches up and rubs a hand across his curls. Lance laughs and adds, “Speaking of sex, there’s a bar across the street, Oglebays. Some of us are going there tonight, you wanna come with?”

Justin nods, his mouth full of hospital meatloaf.

The group at the table begins to disperse and people head back to work. “You think Griswald’s pressure’s gonna hold all day? Maybe she needs more fluids,” Justin says.

“Well, that liter of saline helped, but too much more’s gonna push her over into heart failure,” Lance replies. “If she’s still not peeing when we get back up there, we’ll see how Holloway feels about vasopressors.” He stands and picks up his lunch tray.

Justin clears his throat. “Um, Lance, uh, when everyone was talking before-well, I was just curious, um, I heard the name, I mean, who’s Richardson?”

Lance looks kind of dreamy-eyed for a minute. Whoever this Richardson is, she must be something special. “Ah, yes, Kevin Richardson.” Justin blinks in surprise. “He’s the head of Respiratory Services. He and Chris have been hitting it for a couple of months now, I think.”

Wow. Chris likes guys. He’s only known the man for a few days, but Justin’s intrigued.

 

*****

 

“Justin! Over here!” Justin sees more than hears Lance yell his name over the ear-splitting din of the crowded bar. His ears are already starting to ring as he makes his way over to Lance. Once he’s snagged a beer from the bartender, a tall, solid-looking guy named Joey with the happiest smile Justin’s ever seen, he looks around with interest. Half the hospital seems to be crammed into the small bar, either writhing on the tiny dance floor, or jostling each other for space at the scarred wooden bar. There are at least three televisions suspended behind the bar, all tuned to different sports channels with the volume cranked up as high as it will go. There are tables erratically scattered all over the place. Lance, of course, has scored a table with an unobstructed view of the dancers.

Justin spots JC in the middle of the dance floor. He wonders why JC is wasting his time in nursing, when he could clearly make a very good living as an exotic dancer. He isn’t sure it’s legal, what JC’s doing with his hips. He seems to be dancing with everyone in sight, and then Justin sees Chris, laughing up at him, while he lets JC grind their hips together in time to the thumping bass. Justin feels a flash of jealous heat shoot through him.

Chris whispers something in JC’s ear, and JC throws his head back and laughs. Justin can see Chris eyeing the line of JC’s throat with appreciation, and he frowns. Then Lance nudges him and says, “Kevin Richardson.”  
Justin turns to see a tall, dark man with an amazing body and very intimidating eyebrows standing at the door, looking around.

Justin watches as Richardson’s face lights up with a smile. Wow. That makes the eyebrows a lot less scary. Justin follows Kevin’s gaze. He’s observing Chris and JC with complete amusement. Justin’s glad to know Kevin’s not the possessive type.

“Is JC-“ he starts to ask Lance.

Lance shakes his head. “Believe it or not, JC’s straight.”

Oh. Well, Justin’s glad to know that, too.

Out on the dance floor, Chris is dancing up on JC, trying without much success to hump his leg, because JC’s laughing too hard to cooperate. Kevin grins and reaches a hand out, placing on the back of Chris’s neck, hauling him in for a kiss. Justin feels himself flush. That is just too hot for words.

“Hot, aren’t they?” Lance murmurs in his ear. Justin nods in agreement as Lance pushes him towards the floor. “Go, dance.”

“No. Yes. I mean, no, I don’t want to dance right now,” Justin says, and Lance laughs and shrugs. They sit and nurse their beers, trying to talk over the noise, and Justin watches Chris. After a while, he yawns until he thinks his jaw might crack, and Lance nods his head.

“Me, too, man. You ready to get out of here?”

As he and Lance head out the door, Justin turns back for one more look. JC is still going strong on the dance floor, but Chris has Kevin backed up against the wall between the entry to the kitchen and the women’s restroom. They’re half-laughing and half-kissing, and Justin wonders what it would be like to be the focus of all that laughter and attention.

Lance hooks his arm around Justin’s neck as they walk out to the parking lot. “Chris is hot,” Justin mutters, and then he’s sorry he said anything.

But Lance just laughs softly. “Yeah, he is.”

 

*****

 

When Justin answers a STAT page to go to the ICU at two o’clock in the morning his next night on call, the last person in the world he expects to see in Mrs. Griswald’s room is Chris. He looks up as Justin arrives and raps out, ”She’s spiked a fever, dude. I think she might be septic.”

Justin’s mind races, thinking about what he should do. He doesn’t want to have to call Lance, who’s sleeping in the on-call room, and drag him down here.

“I already had the lab draw blood for cultures. She may need a different antibiotic, I don’t know. But we have to do something about her pressure,” Chris says. “Right now,” he adds sharply, as Justin hesitates. Justin’s a little put out by Chris’s aggressive attitude. Justin’s the doctor here, not Chris. Chris is just the nurse, although Justin’s smart enough not to say that out loud. He wouldn’t mind some help, though, because he’s a little unsure of himself, although there’s no way he’s letting it show.

Maybe Chris can tell, though, because he eyes Justin closely, then nods and says quietly, “Okay. What’s the first thing you want to do?”

For the next hour, Justin and Chris work together to stabilize Mrs. Griswald, walking a fine line between giving her enough IV fluids to keep her blood pressure up, and too many fluids, which could overload her heart. Chris guides Justin through it, never pushing, making suggestions in a way that implies he knows Justin knows these things, and that they’re just discussing how best to proceed. Justin knows he’s being handled, but he really is thankful for the help.

By four o’clock, Mrs. Griswald has pinked up some, and her temperature is down to 100 degrees. Her blood pressure is still low, but not dangerously so. Justin throws Chris a grateful smile when he hears Lance’s voice outside the room.

“Hey, Justin. How’re things? Lance asks as he pokes his head around the door. He frowns when he sees Chris. “Hey, Chris. What’re you doing here?”

Chris shrugs. “We were short-staffed, there was no one available to float in, and I didn’t want to face an armed rebellion by the night shift. JC and I did Rock-Paper-Scissors, and I lost.” He squints thoughtfully. “That may have been because we did it over the phone, and he could have lied, the big cheater.”

Lance laughs. “He probably did, knowing JC. I got paged to the ER, and I thought I’d come see Maude, since I was awake and all.”

“Things got a little hairy for a while there, but I called Justin and he came on down and we got her stabilized,” Chris says. Between the two of them, they fill Lance in on Mrs. Griswald’s night, and never once does Chris let on that Justin needed any help at all.

Chris says, “Well, there’s more than one patient on this unit, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go see to them.” He winks at Justin as he leaves the room.

“I’m going back to bed. You coming?” Lance yawns widely.

“No, I think I’ll hang out here a while longer. Just in case,” Justin says.

“Whatever,” Lance shrugs as he heads toward the elevator. “Good night.”

Justin turns back to his patient. Mrs. Griswald’s eyelids flutter and her hands twitch as they rest on the bed, but she gives no other sign of consciousness. Poor old lady. It must have been a very big bus. Justin wanders out to the Nursing Station with her chart, ready to settle in and review it again, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. He should probably go back to the call room and try to get some sleep, but right now he’s wide awake. If he hangs out in the ICU, he can watch Chris work in relative peace, and maybe they can even talk a little. Chris in the middle of the night is something entirely different from Chris in the middle of the afternoon. Day shift is crazy, people coming and going, lots of action. At night, there’s less traffic though the unit, and the nurses are able to get their work done with fewer interruptions.

Apparently, if there’s no chaos to control, Chris likes to create his own. He zooms from room to room, nurse to nurse, and Justin can’t tell if he’s helping them or harassing them, but he hears a lot of laughter. He reads Maude’s chart and watches Chris, and falls asleep to the sound of Chris’s high-pitched laugh.

“Dr. Timberlake!” Chris’s voice is loud and shrill in his ear, and Justin jumps about six feet in the air, dropping Maude’s chart in the process.

“Huh? What is it? What’s wrong?” Justin checks his chin for drool and blinks at Chris, his face about two inches from Justin’s. He feels his pulse quicken and he pulls back and bends down to retrieve Maude’s chart off the floor.

“We need you in Room 9 right away. Come on, let’s go.” Chris pulls him to his feet and hustles him into Room 9, where another one of Dr. Holloway’s patients lies in an induced coma. He’d been trying to sneak into a Tim McGraw concert at the local arena by climbing through the air ducts, and he’d fallen out onto a cement floor. He has severe head trauma, along with some abdominal injuries, and he’s getting drugs to keep him in a coma to facilitate healing. Justin’s already heard the stories about the day Tim McGraw came to visit the ICU.

“Dr. Timberlake, would you look at young Mr. Addison’s abdomen for me? I think he’s eviscerated.” Chris’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, and Justin decides to play along with whatever he’s up to. If Mr. Addison’s surgical incision had actually split open, Chris wouldn’t be quite so calm.

Justin pulls the sheet back to look at Mr. Addison’s abdomen like the good little intern he is. A surgical glove pops up, the middle finger distended with air, pointing right at him, the rest of the fingers taped to the palm of the glove. The whole thing is taped to the dressing covering Mr. Addison’s incision. Justin stares for a minute, then cracks up. “You’re insane.”

A couple of nurses huddle in the doorway, as Chris grins triumphantly at Justin across Mr. Addison’s bed. Justin shakes his head. “Dude, you should so leave that here for Dr. Holloway when he makes rounds.”

“You know, I think I’ll do just that,” Chris says, looking completely hot in his green scrubs, with his hair kind of spiky, laughing like a loon.

That settles it. Justin officially has a crush on Chris. The question is, what’s he going to do about it?

 

*****

 

“Justin. Justin!” Justin mumbles something, but he doesn’t wake up. Chris hesitates, then tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid and muscular, and Chris shakes it once and quickly pulls his hand away. He likes how Justin’s shoulder feels under his hand, and it’s tempting to linger there. “Justin, wake up.”

“Huh?” Justin lifts his head from where it’s resting on Mrs. Griswald’s chart. He blinks sleepily up at Chris. He’s completely adorable.

“Um,” Chris clears his throat. “It’s 6:30. The day shift is, um, gonna start coming in now. Soon. You know, or later.” Chris is made practically incoherent by the cuteness, but Justin doesn’t seem to notice.

Justin yawns and stretches, his scrubs riding up to expose a sliver of pale skin at his waist. Abs, muscles, golden hair-Chris swallows.

“God. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to being on call and staying up all night,” Justin groans. Sleepy morning voice-oh, that isn’t fair, Chris thinks.

“I’ll be done around seven-thirty or eight, as soon as I get JC up to speed on things around here.” Chris hesitates, not sure he should do this. “You got time for some breakfast?” He hopes that came out sounding as casual as he wanted it to.

Justin peers at his watch, and then looks at Chris, a pleased smile on his face. “Sure, okay. Um, Lance…” He glances around like he expects to see Lance lurking somewhere around the Nursing Station.

“Lance is probably eating even as we speak. He’s not the one that was up all night, dude.” Chris says.

“Right. Okay, sounds good.”

An hour later, they’re sitting at one of the smaller tables in the cafeteria, both of them savoring the strong hospital coffee. Chris figures it’s probably a mistake to be drinking coffee right before he goes home to bed, but on the other hand, he needs to actually get home in one piece, and he can achieve that most successfully by not falling asleep on his bike.

Justin looks bleary-eyed and a bit disheveled, and Chris decides it’s a good look on him. He can’t really think of much that wouldn’t look good on Justin. He smiles at the thought, and pretty soon they’re laughing about the patient in room 11, the one who crashed his motorcycle into the side of a barn while trying to chase down a deer. The deer apparently darted out onto the road in front of the guy, causing him to lay his bike down to avoid hitting it. Both bike and rider were intact, but the bike was a bit scratched, which pissed the guy off, so he tried to run the deer down. That there was a barn in the way had not deterred him from the chase at all.

Chris shakes his head. “Talk about genetically disenfranchised, that guy’s it. He’s lucky all he has is a few abrasions. Well, and a broken pelvis, not to mention that broken arm.”

Justin snorts. “What a moron. After he laid that bike down the first time, he should have left well enough alone. I would never do that with mine.”

“You ride?” Chris asks, pleasantly surprised.

“Sure. You?” Justin looks at him hopefully.

“Yep.” They sit there grinning, absurdly pleased with each other. Finally, Chris clears his throat and Justin looks down, a slight flush on his face. He’s just too goddamn cute for Chris’s peace of mind.

Justin’s voice is tentative, like he’s afraid Chris might turn him down. “Maybe we could ride together sometimes. If I ever get a day off, that is,” he adds, with a rueful laugh.

“Plan on it.” Chris says quickly. It might not be the smartest thing in the world to do, but a guy would have to be a lot stronger than Chris is to say no to that.

Justin’s smile is happy, and Chris feels very pleased with himself. Caffeine jitters through him and makes it hard for him to stop talking. They discuss their motorcycles at some length, each of them convinced of the superiority of their own. Justin has a great laugh, a happy laugh, and he seems relaxed, even after the long night on call.

Reluctantly, Chris looks at his watch. “Okay, dude, I gotta motor. I’ll catch you later.” He pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. Justin stands up, too, smiling at him as he reaches to pick up his tray.

They part at the elevator, Justin going back up to the ICU, and Chris heading down to the parking garage. As the elevator doors close on Justin’s tired smile, Chris remembers that he and Kevin have plans for later today, and Kevin doesn’t know he worked last night. He changes direction and makes a detour.

 

*****

 

Chris sticks his head around the door to Kevin’s office. “Hey.” Kevin’s already at his desk, looking very hot in a dark green sweater. He looks up at Chris’s greeting and smiles in welcome.

“Good morning,” Kevin says. He looks at Chris more closely. “You look like shit.”

Chris snorts. “Thanks, man. I worked last night.”

“Staffing bad again?”

“Yep.” Staffing wasn’t exactly a new problem in the ICU.

“You going home now?” Kevin asks.

“Yeah, I thought I would.” Chris usually avoids the night shift, because it would be just too easy to get into a pattern of being up all night, maybe stopping for breakfast or a drink before heading home to bed, then sleeping all day. That kind of thing is dangerous. It’s habit-forming, and then on his nights off, he’s still up all night. Out doing stupid shit. Day shift is much safer.

“If I get some sleep, you still wanna do something later?"

Kevin eyes him thoughtfully. “Sure. I should be done here around five or so. You want me to pick you up?”

“Works for me.” Chris leans over the desk and plants a loud kiss on Kevin’s lips. Kevin’s hand goes to the back of Chris’s neck and tugs. Chris braces his arms on Kevin’s desk and they kiss again, hot and deep. Chris pulls back, licking his lips.

“Later,” he says. It’s a promise.

Kevin’s eyes darken. “Yeah.”

Leave it to Kevin to have an alarm clock that could wake the dead. “God, that thing has got to go,” Chris grumbles. He says that every time he stays over.

Chris yawns and stretches, climbs over Kevin, and rolls out of bed. He staggers to the shower, Kevin right behind him. By the time Chris has the shampoo out of his hair, Kevin’s on his knees, Chris’s dick down his throat, his hands pinning Chris in place against the tiles. All in all, it’s not a bad way to start the day.

Chris wants Kevin to drive him home so he can get his bike, but they took too long in the shower and there’s not time. They pull into the hospital parking garage right behind Justin’s Harley, and he obviously sees them, although he doesn’t acknowledge Chris’s wave. Chris frowns. He and Kevin are about as casual as two people can be and still know each other’s names, and he hopes Justin doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“Thanks for the ride, man. I’ll see you later.” Chris hurries after Justin, catching up with him in the corridor outside the ICU, where they’re both apparently going.

“Hey, Justin. Morning.” Chris keeps his tone light and Justin turns to look at him uncertainly. “Dude, it’s nothing. Really.” He cocks his head. “Just having fun.”

“Just a hook-up, is that it?” Justin’s tone is belligerent. “I thought-“ he breaks off and looks down, embarrassed.

“You thought right, dude. Kev and I, we’re just an old habit. Habits can be broken, okay?” Chris waits, hoping Justin gets it.

Justin nods. “Okay.”

“Cool.” He holds the door of the ICU open and waves Justin in ahead of him. “After you, Dr. Timberlake.”

Justin grins. “Thank you, Nurse Kirkpatrick.”

 

*****

 

Justin reaches a hand out from under the covers, groping blindly for the phone. “Dr. Timberlake,” he mumbles, wondering what the hell time it is, but unable to pry his eyes open wide enough to see the clock. God, he’d been sleeping so soundly. He seriously wants to hurt whoever’s calling him in the middle of the night.

He hears a gentle snicker on the other end of the phone. “Justin? Justin, you’re not on call, dude.“ He isn’t? “J, are you awake over there?”

Not really, no. “Sure, I’m awake.” He yawns and rubs his eyes. “Who the hell is this?” He looks fuzzily around the room. The sun is coming in past the edges of the curtains at the window, and Justin starts to feel less disoriented as the furniture begins to take shape in the gloomy light. He even recognizes a few things. He appears to be in his own bed, in his own apartment. “Chris?”

“Yeah, J, it’s me. I take it I woke you up. Dude, it’s noon, I thought you’d be awake. Sorry.”

Justin’s heart speeds up as Chris’s voice penetrates the fog in his brain.

“Justin? You still there?” Chris sounds uncertain in his ear.

“No, I’m here. Just give me a minute to figure out where I am. What day is it?”

Chris laughs again. “It’s Saturday, man.” He sounds affectionate, almost tender. Justin likes it. “You really crashed hard, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Justin waits through a comfortable silence for whatever Chris called to say.

“You wanna go for a ride?” Chris asks abruptly.

Justin wants to do whatever Chris wants to do. “Sure,” he whispers into the phone.

“Cool.”

“Um, when do you want-” Justin starts, when it seems like Chris isn’t going to say anything else.

“So, what’re you wearing?” Chris breaks in.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Tell me.” Chris’s voice is dark and inviting, and Justin responds instinctively to it.

“Dude, it was cold as fuck when I went to bed last night. I’m wearing sweats.” He waits to see where Chris is going with this.

“What are you wearing under them?” Chris asks quietly.

“A t-shirt.”

“Under that?”

“A ‘beater.” He swallows. “Boxers,” Justin whispers.

“Under that?”

“Nothing.”

“So, you’re saying you’re practically naked? Awesome.”

Justin laughs shakily. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Chris laughs back at him. “Get dressed. I’ll be over in an hour.” He hangs up, and Justin thinks he may be completely out of his league here. He likes the idea of Chris thinking about him naked, though.

Chris shows up an hour later and smiles warmly at him from under his helmet. “Let’s go.”

They stay on the back roads, avoiding the Interstate because Chris says he isn’t in the mood to dodge trucks and also, he doesn’t want to end up as a patient on his own unit.

About twenty miles out of town, Chris pulls over into a small picnic area, Justin right behind him. They’re in a clearing, with a couple of battered tables nestled together under the trees.

They park the bikes in the middle of the clearing, and Chris brushes dirt off the closest table, hopping up to sit on the end of it. He takes off his helmet and looks at Justin. “C’mere.”

Justin walks slowly over to him. This is important and worth taking his time over. He puts his helmet on the table next to Chris’s and stands there, waiting. Chris looks up at him. “I like you, Dr. Timberlake.”

“Really?” Justin laughs softly. “I like you, too.”

“Really,” Chris says firmly. He puts his hands on either side of Justin’s waist and tugs. Justin stands between Chris’s legs where it’s warm, and he wants to stay there forever. He doesn’t think Chris would mind.

Justin touches Chris’s hair, soft and damp with sweat, and he leans down to kiss him. It starts out soft, just a gentle brush of lips, but Justin’s been waiting for this, and soon it’s something much more. Chris kisses him hungrily, like he’s been waiting, too, and Justin can’t get close enough.

His hands are on Chris’s ass, and he pulls him close. Chris wraps his legs around Justin’s waist and they rock into each other. Justin can feel Chris hard against him and it’s almost unbearably hot. He doesn’t ever want to stop doing this, moving frantically against Chris. He breaks the kiss and buries his face in Chris’s neck and when he comes it’s almost a surprise, it’s so intense. He gasps Chris’s name and shudders, and his lips on Chris’s warm skin muffle any further sounds he makes.

Chris groans and presses his hips harder into Justin’s, his movements changing tempo, becoming quick and jerky and he shakes in Justin’s arms, and then goes still.

Justin eases Chris back onto the table, and they stay like that, just breathing, for a long moment. Justin pulls back just far enough to find Chris’s mouth. It’s so hot, kissing like this in the cool clearing, the July sun coming through the trees, hitting the back of his neck.

“God, I haven’t done that in years.” Chris makes a face and adjusts the front of his jeans. “Look what you did to me, Dr. Timberlake.”

“I think it’s mutual, Nurse Kirkpatrick,” Justin grins. “I think I’m as sticky as you are.”

“Ass,” Chris says fondly. “God, look at you. We need to get you someplace where I can do dirty things to you.”

Justin has no argument with that at all.

 

*****

 

Two days later, Chris arrives at work to find the ICU hopping.

There’s another guy with an abdominal gunshot wound. There seems to be a steady supply of those, and this one was shot during a convenience store holdup. He’s apparently bleeding from everywhere. The deer-chasing motorcycle maniac, Mr. Horton, is still there, and this morning he’s busy trying to hit everyone who comes in his room with whatever he can get his hands on, including his catheter bag and the IV pole he’s managed to wrench free from the head of his bed, no mean feat with his right arm in a cast. Mrs. Griswald has been steadily improving, but she still has days when she makes everyone’s life a little more interesting, and her kidneys have decided that today is one of those days. Chris spots Justin in the middle of the melee, looking harried. Even from across the unit, Chris can see that he’s pale, with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He must have had a very busy night.

Shortly after morning report, Britney stalks up to him, clearly frustrated. “Maude’s urine output is slowing down again,” she says. “I think she needs some Lasix. Timberlake says no, not yet. He wants to “watch” her some more. He can _watch_ her go right into congestive heart failure again, if that’s what he wants, but _I’d_ rather not,” she finishes, fuming.

“Where’s JC?” Chris asks her. If Justin’s having an _I’m the doctor and no nurse is going to tell me what to do_ moment, Chris wants to stay far away. It happens to the best of them, but he’d rather not be the one to deal with it.

“He’s in with Kristin, trying to keep Mr. Horton from hitting her with his cast.” She rolls her eyes. “That guy’s a real moron.”

Chris sighs. “Okay, give me the details, and then let’s go save young Dr. Timberlake from his bad self.”

They find Justin in Mrs. Griswald’s room, holding up her catheter bag and peering closely at the urine in it. Chris looks at it, too. It’s kind of dark, a little concentrated, but not extremely so. Justin turns at their entrance and quickly hangs the bag back on the side of the bed, like he hasn’t been studying it, trying to get a clue. He looks defiantly from Britney to Chris. Chris sighs again.

“Hey, Dr. Timberlake. How’s Maude this morning?” Chris asks. Justin’s eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion, and he frowns at Chris. Chris wants to take him home and feed him oatmeal and tuck him into bed.

“She’s dry,” he says, his voice daring Chris to argue with him.

Chris thinks differently. Maude’s not dehydrated, and she isn’t overloaded, either. She just needs a little nudge in the right direction to get her peeing again.

“I don’t want to give her any Lasix, she doesn’t need a diuretic right now.” Justin says, before Chris can say a word. He raises his chin subbornly. If it weren’t so aggravating, it would be cute. “And I’m not calling Lance. He’d say the same thing, anyway,” he adds. He looks about twelve years old right now.

“I doubt it, J,” Chris says, and Justin narrows his eyes dangerously. Chris knows Justin’s beyond tired, and he’s trying to be patient. It’s not like he hasn’t had this conversation with every other resident he’s ever worked with at some point or another, but it gets old, and he’d been hoping not to have to have it with Justin.

He doesn’t want this fucking up whatever personal relationship they’ve got going, and if he pushes Justin too hard, it might. For all Chris knows, Justin could be the type to hold a grudge. He is a surgeon, after all.

Chris takes a deep breath and says calmly, “Look, maybe we can compromise. How about we up her fluids a bit, and hit her with a small dose of Lasix. That way we won’t overload her, but we won’t dry her out, either.” He waits, hoping Justin takes the suggestion gracefully. Britney watches them both, eyes wide, probably seeing more than Chris would like her to.

For a minute Justin stares down at the chart in his hands, chewing on his lower lip. As usual, Chris finds that sight very distracting, which isn’t helping right now. Britney clears her throat loudly, and Chris jerks his head towards the door. She looks uncertainly between Chris and Justin, then shrugs and leaves the room.

Justin looks up, his eyes stormy. “I think you’re forgetting who the doctor is here, Chris. You’re a nurse-“ the unspoken _just_ is almost louder than Justin’s actual words-“and your job is to do what I tell you, and follow doctor’s orders.”

“My _job,_ Dr. Timberlake, is to take care of my patients the best I can, and to make sure this unit functions the way it’s supposed to. And in case you don’t remember your Hippocratic Oath, _your_ job is to _first, do no harm._ ” He keeps his voice low with an effort.

“Which one of us went to medical school, Chris? I think I know better than you-“ Justin starts.

“Which one of us has ten years of critical care experience, you ass? You know what? I don’t need this crap, and neither does Maude.” He stalks out of the room to the Nursing Station, Justin right behind him, and snatches up the phone to page Lance. His hands are shaking so much he almost drops it. Fucking Justin. Maybe he’ll write Chris up for insubordination. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end to this train wreck of a short-lived relationship. Chris _knows_ better than to get involved with doctors, and he should have left Justin alone.

Justin tosses Maude’s chart at Chris and it bounces off the counter and lands on the floor. It’s a stand-off, both of them looking at the scattered pages on the floor, then Justin turns on his heel and marches back to Mrs. Griswald’s room. Chris bends to pick it up, still shaking. JC’s hovering in an alcove near the desk, and as Justin stomps away, Chris says, “It’s okay JC. You can come out now. The great Dr. Timberlake is gone.”

JC puts a hand on his shoulder. “Chris…he’s just a kid.”

“No, JC, didn’t you hear him? He’s a doctor, and I’m just a nurse.” Chris is embarrassed at how bitter he sounds.

“Chris, he’s tired, and he’s overwhelmed. Cut him some slack, don’t make this any bigger than it has to be.” JC’s voice is kind, and it pisses Chris off more.

“Whose side are you on, JC?” he demands angrily.

JC shrugs. “Maude’s,” he says simply.

Chris slumps, defeated. “Then you go deal with him. Maybe you and Britney can convince him not to drown Maude in IV fluids this morning.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Apparently, given some time to think, Justin’s decided to compromise, because Maude makes it though the day without any further problems. He and Chris avoid each other, and Chris stays far away from Mrs. Griswald’s room whenever Justin comes to the unit to check on her progress. They had tentatively planned to grab a quick dinner if Justin wasn’t too tired from his night on call, and had talked about taking their bikes to the McDonald’s out on the bypass. Chris loves to ride on summer evenings, and he’d been looking forward to it.

The date is apparently cancelled.

Over the next few days, Chris and Justin behave very professionally towards each other when they interact. JC is being helpful and supportive, offering Chris a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on and whatever else he might need. Chris is ready to push him down an elevator shaft after one day.

“That’s enough, C. Stop looking at me with those sad cow eyes. I’m fine. It’s not the end of the world. It was a stupid idea, anyway. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. He’s a doctor, for Christ’s sake. He’s just going to keep moving, and I’m going to still be here five years from now, having the same stupid argument with every-“ he breaks off and looks at JC seriously. “And that’s okay. I love what I do, and I love the patients, and I don’t want to change it. There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse.”

“Hey, you don’t have to convince me, man. I’m right here with you.” JC hesitates. “But Justin’s excited, and scared, and so new to this, Chris. I’m sure he didn’t mean-“

“Whatever, JC. Just stop talking about it, for the love of God.”

JC looks at him. “Okay. But I’m here if-“

“Go empty a bedpan, or something, JC. Jeez.” For someone who’s supposedly straight, JC sure does love to talk things to death.

 

*****

 

“Come on, Justin. It’s time for Oglebays. Go home and shower, and I’ll meet you there.” Lance is firm, and even through his bone-weary exhaustion, Justin envies how Lance never seems to get tired. How the hell does he do that? He’s always so smooth, so calm, so relaxed…

“Justin! You’re asleep on your feet. Maybe you’d better go home and go to bed.” Lance studies him closely. “Or just stay here and sleep. Wow.”

“No, no, no, I wanna go.” He’s whining, he knows it. “I’ll wake up. And I’m off the weekend. Please?” He may be exhausted, but he feels restless and edgy, too. He knows he hurt Chris, and he doesn’t know why he said the things he said. He just knows that at the time he had been bound and determined to establish that he knew what he was doing, and that he didn’t need anyone’s help.

Maybe he’s just mentally and emotionally worn down from being constantly on the spot, what with Dr. Holloway, Lance and the other senior residents, the patients, their families, and the nursing staff constantly asking him questions, expecting answers. He feels like he has to prove himself again and again, and he had just rebelled at having to do it one more time. Especially with Chris, whose ability to run the ICU with humor and competence sometimes makes Justin feel like a little kid.

Now, after the fact, he just feels stupid.

“Justin, I’m not your mother,” Lance says. “You’re allowed to go out. But I’m driving.”

It sounds good to Justin.

Oglebays is as loud as ever when Justin and Lance push through the front door. The noise hits Justin like a physical force, practically knocking him off his feet. Lance steadies him with a hand at his elbow, giving him a concerned glance before guiding him to their usual table, which is covered with half-empty beer bottles. No one is sitting there, though. Everyone must be dancing.

Lance plants Justin in a chair. “Sit. Stay. I’ll get us some beers.” Great. Justin’ll never get a beer, now. Lance has been interested in the bartender for some time now, and while at first Joey hadn’t seemed to return that interest, Lance has been persistent, and lately it seems to be paying off. Except now Justin will never get a beer.

He’s brooding about the injustice of it all, chin in his hands, staring moodily at the dance floor, when a bottle of beer appears in front of him, dripping condensation. Startled, he looks up into serious blue eyes. “You look like you could use this, dude,” JC says.

Justin takes the beer gratefully. JC raises his eyebrows and Justin nods. JC sits down with a sigh. “That Britney-she never gets tired of dancing. I need a break, man,” he yells over the music.

They sit there without speaking, watching the dancers. JC doesn’t seem to be mad at Justin, but Justin doesn’t know what to say to him. Then Justin realizes that Chris is out there dancing with Kevin, and the sudden pain he feels makes it hard for him to breathe.

Justin watches them, he can’t help himself. It’s hard to dance somberly to “Hollaback, Girl,” but they’re managing to do it. Kevin’s hand is in its usual place on the back of Chris’s neck, but Chris isn’t laughing up at him the way he normally does, and Kevin looks pretty serious. He bends down to whisper in Chris’s ear, and Chris looks over at Justin, startled. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Chris’s stare burns into Justin, leaving him feeling hollowed out and empty.

Then Chris pulls away from Kevin, and heads for the door. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the bar. Justin stares hungrily after him.

Britney comes up to the table and tugs on JC’s arm. “Come on, JC, I want to dance some more. Hey, Justin.”

“Hey, Brit,” Justin manages to say around the lump in his throat. JC stands up, putting his hands on Britney’s waist.

“Later, Justin,” he says, and they move toward the dance floor, leaving Justin alone to brood.

“You suck,” he bitches when Lance eventually comes back to the table with several beers and a happy grin on his face.

Lance chuckles. “Well, Joey’s sure hoping that I’m going to.”

Justin just grunts and Lance pats him sympathetically on the shoulder. People come and go, laughing and joking with Lance while Justin steadily drinks one beer after another, snagging all the ones Lance brought back from the bar, plus a few half empty ones that have been sitting around long enough to get warm.

Justin needs to get out of here. He stands up quickly, steadying himself with a hand on Lance’s shoulder until the room stops spinning. “Lance, dude, I’ve gotta go.”

Lance glances up at him, surprised. “Now?” Justin staggers, trying to keep from falling on his ass. “Okay, I guess now might be a good time then. Goodness, Justin, when did you get so drunk?” Lance sounds surprised.

Justin doesn’t think it’s at all fair of Lance to ask him that. Lance is the one who brought all that beer to the table, after all. It isn’t Justin’s fault that there were so many half-empty bottles sitting around, going to waste.

Then Lance is helping him walk, herding him out the door, where a blast of hot air hits him and immediately makes his knees buckle. “Whoa, Justin. I hope you can walk, because I’m not carrying your ass to the car.”

“Love you, too, man,” Justin slurs. He falls asleep on the ride home, vaguely wondering how’s he’s going to get his bike home from the hospital.

 

*****

 

Chris goes in to cover the night shift again two days later. Unfortunately, Justin’s on call that night. Mrs. Griswald is recovering nicely by now, almost ready to be transferred out of the ICU, but there’s a woman who fell down a flight of stairs who’s giving them some problems. Her nurse calls Justin to come see her when she drops her blood pressure, and Chris stays out of the way. He’s pretending to ignore them completely when Lizzie, a tall nurse with red hair and glasses, comes running out of the supply room, yelling his name.

“Chris, oh my God, Chris, come quick! There’s a mouse in here-oh, shit, there it goes!” she screams, pointing towards the staff breakroom.

“Crap, not another one,” Chris mutters. “I thought they got rid of those suckers last time!” He runs into the supply room and grabs a 50cc syringe off the shelf. “Hang on, Lizzie, I’m coming!” he calls.

He dashes out of the Nursing Station, brandishing the syringe like a sword. “Where did it go?”

Lizzie points towards the breakroom again. “In there, I think.” She shudders. “Ugh.” She looks at the syringe in Chris’s hand. “What the hell are you gonna do with that?”

“I’m gonna save you from the mouse!” Chris lunges at the breakroom, yanking the door open. “Aha!” He peers inside, trying to catch sight of the mouse. It scurries over his shoe and streaks past him, squeaking as it runs toward the main desk. Chris chases after it, pulling up short when Justin comes out of Mrs. Brady’s room to see what the uproar is all about.

“Dude, there’s a mouse on the loose!” He moves slowly toward the desk, syringe at the ready. The mouse is frozen under the counter, clearly terrified. Justin’s behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“You’re not really going to stab him with that, are you?” he asks. Chris looks around at him and nods.

“You got a better idea?”

Justin frowns. “Well, yeah. You can’t just kill him like that.” He quietly picks up a nearby trash can and upends it, inching closer to the mouse, then quickly slams the upside-down trash can on top of it. “There,” he says triumphantly.

“That’s great, Justin, but now what am I supposed to do with it?” Chris asks, amused.

“Um, leave it there for Maintenance to deal with in the morning?” he suggests sheepishly.

“They’ll just kill it then, Justin.” Chris says with a smile.

“Wait.” Justin looks around, then grabs a folder off the desk. He slides it carefully under the trash can, lifting it up at the same time. “There.” He gets to his feet and marches out the door, holding the trash can out in front of him like an offering.

Chris looks at Lizzie and shrugs. “I think young Dr. Timberlake has a bit of a God complex.”

Lizzie giggles. “He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”

Chris can’t help but agree.

Ten minutes later, Justin’s back. “What did you do with it?” Chris asks him.

“I took it outside,” Justin answers, lifting his chin defiantly, like he thinks Chris is going to laugh at him.

Chris does, a little, and Justin scowls. “Dr. Timberlake, you saved a life tonight.”

They stand there staring at each other, and then Justin huffs out a reluctant laugh. Then they’re both laughing hard, standing in the middle of the ICU, giggling like idiots. “God, J, I’m sorry,” Chris says, when he can breathe again.

“Me, too. I didn’t mean to say those things, Chris. Really.” Justin looks sincerely sorry, and Chris thinks he means it. “I don’t think that just because I’m a doctor and you’re a nurse that I know more than you. I respect you so much, Chris, really,” he adds quietly.

“I know.” Chris smiles at him and touches his arm. “McDonald’s tonight?”

Justin nods happily. “That sounds good.”

 

*****

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Griswald. How’re you doing today?” Justin smiles down at his patient. She’s looking like she might yet be the ultimate victor over her bus.

Chris is behind him. “Hey, Maude. How’s my favorite patient?”

Mrs. Griswald smiles at them. “Hi, boys.”

“You’re looking good today, Maude,” Chris says.

“I feel good,” she replies, adding, with a wicked smile, “And it looks like my favorite nurse and my favorite doctor are feeling pretty good today, too.”

Justin nods as Chris says,” You betcha. Dr. Timberlake here finally got himself some sleep.”

Justin tries not to blush. The memory of Chris sliding into him, whispering dirty things in his ear, makes it difficult. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night at all.

Maude reaches out and pats his hand. “I’m happy to hear it. He needed it.”

“Yes, he did,” Chris agrees innocently. He’s so going to pay for this later, Justin thinks. He’s guessing Chris will be okay with that.


End file.
